


Warm Heart

by sepia_coffee_stains



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Kind of shippy, M/M, alcohol mention, open-ended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepia_coffee_stains/pseuds/sepia_coffee_stains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory has a rough evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for a Secret Santa exchange on flarping.com. Enjoy!

Your name is Rory Lalonde and you’ve been stood up by yet another blind date. You knew very well that embarking on this type of pursuit was one of your many exercises in futility, but as many moments in your life can attest to, your loneliness overrides your logic at very crucial moments. Gritting your teeth in frustration, you shove your hands in your pockets. Breathing out puffs of white vapor in the freezing air, you mill around, kicking small pebbles on the sidewalk. Your phone buzzes and you hesitate. Finally, the curiosity takes over and you fish the device out of your pocket.

“Getting your mack on yet?”

You let out a humorless laugh, wondering why you’d gotten your hopes up. It was only Dave, after all. 

“Yeah. In fact it’s going so great that I’m gonna propose to ‘em. Right now.” You haven’t spoken to him with this level of scathing sarcasm in an incredibly long time. In fact, never. He senses tonelessness of your voice immediately, sounding apologetic. You can practically see the corner of his lips drop from their signature subtle smirk and you absolutely hate it. 

“Fuck. I’m so—“

You hang up, cutting him off. A moment later, a pang of guilt strikes you right in the chest and you honestly consider calling him back. But instead, you find your fingers moving to turn off your phone completely. You sigh, glancing around. The moon peeks out behind a curtain of dark clouds and the stars shine too brightly. An owl hoots in the distance, but it sounds more like laughter. You stumble home, heavy-hearted and utterly dateless. You feel sick to your stomach, and it feels like something not too far from motion sickness, except you want to cry almost as much as you want to expel the stuff sloshing around in your guts. All in all, not a great sentiment. You feel pathetic. 

Luckily, your home isn’t too far away and you make it inside without falling apart. You drag your feet over to the kitchen and immediately raid the pantry, the fridge, the shelves— everywhere, for your favorite toxic, one-drink-fits-all solution. After a violent bout of rummaging, you settle on a classy bottle of red wine and pop the cork off. You think, to hell with glasses, and take a swig from the bottle, plopping down on your couch. All is silent, aside from the soft tick-tocking of your pink feline clock. Everywhere is dead silent. The blanket of noiselessness that is wrapped around your accommodation becomes so suffocating that you grab the nearby remote with shaking hands. But you don't turn the television on; you just chuck it against the wall. A light stream of tears rolls down your cheeks. 

 

A bottle and a half later, your mind feels fuzzy, as if being held by a giant mitten-clad hand. You’re much better and you wonder why you’d been so upset by the no-show. Your cat wakes up from its nap and pads over to you, curling up in your lap with a purr. 

 

The hours crawl by slowly. 

 

Several more bottles later, you're lying on the ground. Is that drool or tears? You can't tell anymore. Clutching at the empty wine bottle beside you, you let out a choked sob. Mind spinning, you struggle to sit up. Halfway up, you stop and vomit on the floor, falling back. Everything is black. 

 

Some indefinite length of time later, you wake up. Through bleary eyes you distinguish that no, you are not on your previous position on the floor. The bed, perhaps? You rub at your eyes and look up, wincing as your back cracks audibly. To your surprise, your eyes are met with the sight of blonde hair and dark shades. 

"Dave?"

His face is unreadable, but he keeps his arms around you. "You weren't pick up your phone, asshole. Really outdid yourself this time, eh?" His head nods to the glass carnage, now neatly arranged near the door. 

"How—"

"The door was more open than a hooker's legs. Great going, inviting all the crooks in the neighborhood to join in your little party like that." 

You look down, ashamed, and find a sudden interest in absorbing the minute details of the carpet. 

Dave continues with a milder tone. "Don't do that again, alright? Unless you want me to die yet again from crazy ass heart convulsions." 

His fingers brush your hair, smoothing it gently out of your face. You shiver the the contact and look up, tears fogging your vision. Suddenly you're pressed against his clothed chest and your feel his slightly chapped lips on your forehead for a split second. 

You're about ready to die from crazy ass heart convulsions. 

Your arms snake around him, hands clinging to his back, and he rests his head on yours. 

And, for once in what seems like forever, the loneliness melts away.


End file.
